ECHOES 


BY 


ELIZABETH   H.  RAND 


.    . 


BOSTON 
RICHARD    G.   BADGER 

The  Gorham  Press 
1904 


Copyright  1904  by  ELIZABETH  H.  RAND 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  at 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 
Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


TO 

MY  MOTHER  AND  FATHER 
WITH  MY  LOVE 


M191892 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Legend  of  David  of  Bethlehem 7 

The  Christmas  Message 19 

Christmas 21 

The  Christ-Blume    22 

The  Christmas  Rose 24 

The  Babushka 26 

An  Easter  Miracle 28 

From  Darkness  Unto  Light 29 

Ascension  Lilies 3 l 

All   Saints    33 

Sanctissima  Mater  Dei 34 

A  Little  Child 36 

Evening    38 

Goodbye 39 

The  Sunset-Land    40 

Cloud-Ships    42 

The  Storm-King 43 

The  Daisy's  Mission 44 

Down  in  the  Meadow 45 

My  Valentine    46 

The  Unfortunate 48 

Hill  and  Plain 51 

The  Right  Way   53 

5 


THE  LEGEND  OF  DAVID  OF 
BETHLEHEM 

A  strange  story,  say  those  who  hear  it,  and  verily 
they  speak  the  truth:  for  the  verity  of  the  tale  I 
cannot  vouch,  because,  as  with  most  legends,  one 
finds  it  difficult  to  tell  where  fact  and  fancy  blend, 
where  the  actual  occurrence  and  the  romance  which 
time  and  distance  have  woven  about  it  become  one. 

Listen  then  to  the  story  which  is  told  concern 
ing  this  lad,  David  of  Bethlehem,  and  whether  or 
no  you  believe  the  tale  to  be  true,  remember,  that  the 
One  Whose  birth  he  declared  taught  that  it  is  to 
the  poor  and  simple  of  the  earth,  that  God  reveals 
His  deepest  mysteries. 


It  was  the  month,  Chisleu,  and  the  cool  night 
winds  blew  down  the  valley  and  across  the  fields 
which  lay  but  a  short  distance  from  the  little 
town  of  Bethlehem:  the  wind  brought  with  it  the 
cold  breath  of  snow  from  the  mountains,  and  a 
company  of  shepherds  who,  with  their  flocks,  were 
passing  the  night  in  this  valley-like  field,  drew 
closer  to  the  pleasant  warmth  of  their  camp-fire,  as 
the  shadows  settled  lower  and  the  last  light  which 
had  been  reflected  from  the  mountains  of  Moab, 
faded  and  was  lost  in  the  darkness  of  the  night. 
It  was  very  still  in  the  valley:  once  the  hush  was 
broken  by  shouts  from  the  road,  leading  to  Beth 
lehem:  the  shepherds  had  eaten  their  simple  evening 
meal,  and  now  sat  talking,  while  their  faithful  dogs 
lay  at  their  feet  and,  nearby  in  the  cot  or  fold,  the 
white  sheep  slept  secure. 


"The  town  is  full  of  pilgrims,"  a  shepherd  said, 
as  the  shouts  of  the  wayfarers  upon  the  highway, 
were  borne  to  them.  "I  was  there  this  morning, 
and  the  Inn  was  already  crowded  and  there  were 
many  more  travellers  upon  the  road;  'tis  a  fair 
home,  is  Bethlehem,  and  many  return  to  her,  with 
love  in  their  hearts." 

A  man  with  dark,  heavy  hair  and  fierce,  black 
eyes,  who  had  been  gazing  into  the  fire,  now  looked 
up  and  spoke: — 

"Nay,"  he  said, "not  with  love,  but  with  hate;  hate 
for  the  accursed  Romans,  for  this  must  every  true  Is 
raelite  bear  in  his  heart:  that  they  should  command 
this  journey,  and  in  the  winter-season,  too!  Dared 
I,  gladly  would  I  slay  each  of  the  accursed  ones  as 
I  meet  them."  He  glared  sullenly  at  his  com 
panions  from  beneath  his  dark  brows  and  fingered 
the  long,  pointed  knife,  which  hung  at  his  belt,  as 
if,  in  pleasant  fancy,  he  already  felt  it  piercing  the 
heart  of  one  of  the  hated  oppressors  of  his  coun 
try. 

"'Tis,  verily,  a  hard  journey  for  many,"  re 
joined  the  first  speaker.  "I  met  as  I  returned,  this 
evening,  a  man,  come  down  from  the  far  hill-coun 
try,  from  Nazareth,  methinks,  he  said ;  his  wife  was 
with  him,  she  was  young  and  wondrous  fair  but  sore 
in  need  of  rest  and  shelter  and  he  told  me  there 
was  no  room  for  them  at  the  Inn;  I  should  have 
made  them  go  to  mine  own  house  but  my  brother 
is  come  with  all  his  family  from  the  south,  and  the 
house  is  even  now,  over  full." 

"This  journey  and  taxing,  at  the  command  of  a 
Roman  dog,"  muttered  the  dark  man.  "Now,  an' 
Messias  would  come,  we  might  be  free!  I  would 
be  one  of  the  first  to  strike  the  blow." 

"The  promises  are  long  of  fulfillment,"  said  an 

8 


old  shepherd,  whose  snow  white  hair  and  beard 
showed  that  he  had  indeed,  waited  long;  "but  the 
God  of  our  fathers  will  surely  not  forsake  us." 

So  they  talked,  these  simple  shepherds,  of  their 
hopes  and  fears,  of  their  hatred  of  the  Roman  ty 
rant,  and  of  their  longing  for  liberty,  and  so  in 
terested  did  they  become,  that  it  was  the  hour  of  the 
second  watch  before  they  lay  down  to  rest,  leaving 
one  of  their  number  on  guard. 

He  was  a  quiet,  gentle  lad,  of  some  seventeen  or 
eighteen  years,  who  had  sat  silent  during  the  even 
ing,  scarcely  ever  joining  in  the  conversation  of  his 
companions:  he  was  strong  and  well-formed,  and 
like  unto  David  of  old — and  the  boy  too,  bore  the 
name  of  David  and  claimed  descent  from  the  royal 
house; — he  was  ruddy  and  of  a  fair  countenance, 
his  head  crowned  with  golden  curls,  and  his  eyes  of 
wondrous  blue;  and  those  eyes  seemed  ever  look 
ing  beyond  the  walls  of  his  quiet  village  home, 
across  the  valley  to  the  mountains  beyond,  or  high 
er  still  into  the  cloud-flecked  sky;  and  when  he 
looked  on  lowly  things,  it  was  as  if  he  saw  more 
deeply  than  most  men  into  the  mysteries  which 
God  has  hid  in  the  little  things  of  earth:  the  sheep 
of  his  flock  loved  him,  the  tender  lambs  bleating  in 
answer  to  his  voice;  the  other  shepherds  would 
watch  wonderingly,  to  see  him  pluck  from  the 
thorny  scrub  of  the  pasture,  a  fair  lily  and  gaze 
into  its  depths,  as  if  he  expected  to  read  there  some 
marvellous  story:  they,  too,  loved  the  boy,  but  they 
shook  their  heads  as  they  talked  of  him,  for  he  was 
not  like  other  lads  and  seldom  joined  in  their 
simple  village  sports  and  pastimes  but  wandered 
through  the  fields  and  over  the  hills,  singing  to 
himself  the  songs  of  ancient  Israel  and  of  its  war 
rior  king. 

9 


David  drew  his  shepherd's  cloak  about  him  and 
settled  himself  for  the  long  watch ;  he  pondered  over 
the  conversation  of  his  companions  and  fell  to 
wondering  when  the  long-promised  Messiah  would 
come  to  redeem  Israel:  later,  into  his  mind,  came 
the  memory  of  his  visit  to  Jerusalem,  at  the  last 
Passover,  and  again  he  stood  in  fancy,  gazing  at  the 
wondrous  beauty  of  the  Temple;  he  was  in  Solo 
mon's  Porch,  near  to  the  Beautiful  Gate  and  be 
fore  him  lay  the  City  of  the  Great  King,  resplendent 
in  the  morning  light,  while  beyond  were  the  hills 
which  stand  'round  about  Jerusalem;  he  heard  the 
blowing  of  the  trumpets,  saw  the  great  multitude 
hurrying  to  the  worship  of  the  living  God  and  over 
all  there  seemed  borne  to  him  the  chanting  of  the 
Hallel. 

Thus  he  pondered,  so  deeply,  indeed,  that  he  knew 
not  the  passing  of  the  second  watch;  the  wind  had 
ceased  to  blow,  and  a  wondrous  stillness  rested  over 
the  valley,  while  in  the  deep  blue  vault  of  heaven,  the 
myriad  stars  shone  bright.  David,  with  upturned 
face,  sat  by  the  dying  fire  and  gazed  into  the  pure 
light  of  God's  bright  stars,  and  as  he  gazed,  a  new 
light  shone  about  him, — a  wondrous  light,  which 
seemed  to  fall,  in  one  great,  pulsing  beam  from 
Heaven,  and  then  to  brighten  and  to  spread,  until 
the  whole  valley  was  as  clear  as  in  the  day;  but 
most  wonderful  of  all,  upon  this  beam  of  radiant, 
pulsing  light  an  angel  stood  with  holy,  beauteous 
face  and  outstretched  hands. 

David  and  his  suddenly  awakened  companions, 
fell  upon  their  faces,  for  They  Were  Sore  Afraid. 

And  The  Angel  Said  Unto  Them:  "Fear  not; 
For  Behold,  I  Bring  You  Good  Tidings  Of  Great 

10 


Joy,  Which  Shall  Be  To  All  People.  For  Unto 
You  Is  Born  This  Day  In  The  City  Of  David,  A 
Saviour,  Which  Is  Christ  The  Lord.  And  This 
Shall  Be  A  Sign  Unto  You;  Ye  Shall  Find  The 
Babe,  Wrapped  In  Swaddling  Clothes,  And  Lying 
In  A  Manger." 

And,  Suddenly  There  Was  With  The  Angel  A 
Multitude  Of  The  Heavenly  Host  Praising  God 
And  Saying: — "Glory  To  God  In  The  Highest, 
And  On  Earth,  Peace,  Goodwill  Toward  Men." 

The  lad,  David  raised  his  head  and  looked  and 
listened,  as  the  wondrous  hymn  rang  out  in  tones 
no  man  can  fancy  or  describe,  and  echoed  and  re 
echoed  through  the  peaceful  valley:  And  It  Came 
To  Pass,  As  The  Angels  Were  Gone  Away  Into 
Heaven,  The  Shepherds  Said  One  To  Another — 
"Let  Us  Now  Go  Even  Unto  Bethlehem,  And  See 
This  Thing,  which  The  Lord  Hath  Made  Known 
Unto  Us." 

So  they  went  towards  Bethlehem,  but  David 
went  as  one  in  a  dream,  for  he,  alone,  had  looked 
full  at  the  marvellous  light  and  into  his  heart,  the 
angelic  song  had  entered,  never  to  be  forgotten. 

And  They  Came,  With  Haste,  And  Found  Mary 
And  Joseph,  And  The  Babe,  Lying  In  A  Manger. 
And  When  They  Had  Seen  It  They  Made  Known 
Abroad  The  Saying  Which  Was  Told  Them, 
Concerning  This  Child,  and  while  all  men  won 
dered  and  many  doubted,  the  shepherds  declared 
again  and  again  the  sight  which  they  had  seen,  and 
the  message  of  the  angel :  but  from  that  early  morn 
ing  the  boy,  David,  was  not  the  same;  he  fol 
lowed  or  led  his  flock  no  more,  but  wandered, 
sometimes  about  the  town  but  more  often  up  and 

II 


down  the  valleys  and  over  the  hills  and  neighbor 
ing  heights,  and  ever  his  eyes  seemed  seeking  some 
thing  not  of  earth ;  and  the  while  he  repeated  again 
and  again  the  story  of  that  winter's  night  and 
sang  in  a  voice  of  wondrous  sweetness  the  words 
of  the  angels'  song. 

For  a  year  he  wandered  thus,  and  then  it  came  to 
pass  that  he  was  seen  no  more:  some  shepherds  had 
heard  his  voice  among  the  hills  in  the  late  twilight 
and  men  from  the  village  searched  for  him  for  many 
days,  but  they  found  no  trace  of  him  in  any  place. 
The  days  passed  and  his  old  mother  who  had  loved 
him,  died  and  was  buried,  and  it  was  so,  that  as  the 
months  and  years  passed  away  and  naught  was 
heard  of  him,  little  by  little,  the  villagers  forgot  the 
lad,  David  of  Bethlehem. 


12 


II 

It  was  some  sixty  years  after  the  birth  of  Christ, 
at  the  time  when  all  the  world  was  bending  beneath 
the  tyranny  of  the  powerful  and  cruel  Nero,  that  two 
guards  of  the  great  prison,  in  the  city  of  Alexan 
dria,  sat  talking  together  as  they  ate  their  even 
ing  meal. 

"He  is  a  strange  old  man,"  said  one,  "and  though 
assuredly  crazy,  it  hardly  seems  worth  the  while  to 
confine  him,  for  methinks  he  is  scarce  likely  to  com 
mit  any  deed  of  hurt;  but  then  our  prison  is  not 
like  to  become  crowded,  so  great  is  its  size." 

"Is  he  not  one  of  these  Christians?"  asked  the 
other,  as  he  quaffed  his  measure  of  wine. 

His  companion  shrugged  his  shoulders:  "I  know 
not,"  he  said.  "'Tis  a  strange  story  he  tells,  of  angels 
singing  and  lights  shining,  and  like  wondrous  tales: 
I  know  naught  of  these  new,  strange  doctrines,  may 
the  gods  preserve  me  from  meddling  with  them." 

"But  this  old  man,"  suggested  his  companion. 
"What  of  him?" 

"O,  he  is  beside  himself,  as  I  told  thee,  and  near 
to  death,  too,  may  the  gods  help  him;  I  took  him 
food,  but  he  will  not  eat,  and  he  walks  about  his 
cell  and  tries  to  sing,  when,  poor  old  man,  he  has 
no  more  voice  with  which  to  sing,  than  has  my  scab 
bard  yonder ;  again  he  kneels,  as  if  to  pray  and  mut 
ters  to  himself  of  Bethlehem,  and  where  that  is  I 
surely  do  not  know." 

"Bethlehem,"  repeated  the  other  soldier,  "Beth 
lehem,  Ah,  I  can  tell  thee;  I  had  a  brother  who 

13 


served  with  the  legions  in  Palestine,  and  I  have  heard 
him  speak  of  Bethlehem ;  this  strange  old  man  must 
come  from  that  place;  what  more?" 

His  companion  laughed:  "By  the  gods,"  he  said, 
"you  are  as  anxious  to  hear  strange  and  unlike  tales 
as  any  old  woman,  and  I  have  no  more  to  tell;  but, 
and  you  are  so  eager  to  know  of  this  old  man,  you 
shall  go  and  see  him  for  yourself,  when  next  I  make 
my  round." 

Meantime,  in  a  narrow  cell  of  the  prison,  an  old 
man  lay,  as  if  exhausted,  upon  his  pallet-bed:  his 
eyes  were  closed,  and  his  hands  clasped  tightly  upon 
his  breast;  he  was  weak  and  worn  and  one  could 
see  that  his  must  have  been  a  life  of  wandering, 
for  his  weary  feet  were  hardened  by  travel  and  his 
thin  face  was  burned  with  the  suns  of  many  lands: 
indeed,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  recognize  in 
this  wasted  dying  old  man,  a  prisoner  in  a  distant 
land,  the  fair-haired  boy  who  watched  his  flock  in 
the  valley  nigh  to  Bethlehem,  on  the  first  Christmas- 
eve. 

But  it  was,  indeed,  he,  whose  long,  strange  life 
was  drawing  to  a  close  within  these  prison  walls. 

From  the  day  when  the  Judean  shepherds  sought 
in  vain  for  the  lad,  he  had  wandered  through  the 
countries  of  the  earth,  ever  telling  his  marvellous 
story  and  singing  in  a  voice  of  wondrous  sweetness, 
the  song  the  angels  sang. 

From  Jerusalem  and  other  cities  of  his  own  land 
he  had  wandered  to  the  towns  and  hamlets  of  Syria; 
by  the  shores  of  the  sea,  and  in  the  market-places  of 
Tyre  and  Sidon  he  had  sweetly  talked  and  sung. 
Through  Greece  he  had  travelled,  and  had  even 
stood  upon  Mars  Hill,  at  Athens,  and  sung  his  song 

14 


and  told  his  marvellous  story,  but  how  should  those 
who  would  later  scoff  at  the  teachings  of  the  great 
Apostle  Paul  be  likely  to  give  heed  to  the  strange  tale 
of  a  half-crazed  man? 

Once  he  had  come  to  Ephesus,  where  one  named 
John,  hearing  the  man's  story,  took  him  to  his  house, 
and  told  him  things  yet  more  marvellous  and  had 
him  baptized  into  the  Christian  Faith;  still  David 
tarried  there  but  a  short  time,  and  then  resumed 
his  wanderings. 

He  had  lived  for  months  among  the  wild  north 
ern  tribes,  and  his  journeyings  had  taken  him  to 
many  places  of  which  the  proud  legions  of  Rome 
knew  not.  He  had  suffered  shipwreck  and  many 
perils  of  sea  and  land  and  ofttimes  had  he  been 
imprisoned;  indeed,  for  a  year,  he  had  lain  in  the 
wards  of  the  Imperial  City,  but  then,  as  since,  he 
had  been  released  as  a  crazy  but  harmless  man, 
scarce  worthy  the  time  of  trial  and  execution. 

Once  he  suffered  for  many  weeks,  his  strength 
sapped  by  burning  fever,  and  at  last  nursed  back  to 
health,  by  the  dark-eyed  children  of  the  tropics ;  but 
as  he  grew  older,  his  step  became  feeble  and  the 
voice  which  sang  the  angelic  message,  finally  lost  its 
depth  and  sweetness. 

Still  the  old  man  wandered:  men  laughed  and 
scoffed  at  him,  women  pitied  him,  but  the  little  chil 
dren  always  loved  him ;  and  whether  they  were  blue- 
eyed  sons  and  daughters  of  the  north,  or  brown- 
skinned  babes  of  the  southlands,  they  sat  upon  his 
knee,  and  stroked  and  kissed  his  face,  and  smiled 
while  he  sang  to  them,  for,  though  they  knew  not  the 
meaning  of  his  words,  their  childish  hearts  were 


touched  by  the  melody  of  that  song,  which  had  wel 
comed  to  this  world  the  Kingly  Child. 

Again  the  season  of  that  wondrous  song  had  come  ; 
another  Christmas  was  about  to  dawn  upon  the 
earth:  the  night  was  nearly  over,  and  within  the 
prison  cell,  watched  by  the  two  curious  but  pitying 
guards,  the  aged  prisoner  tossed  upon  his  narrow 
bed  now  and  again  talking  of  things  far  in  the  past : 
and  in  his  thirst,  like  David  of  old,  he  longed  for  a 
drink  of  water  from  the  village  well  at  Bethlehem, 
his  childhood  home,  among  the  Judean  hills. 

"Poor  old  man;  give  him  a  drink";  exclaimed 
one  of  the  guards,  and  while  his  companion  raised 
the  wasted  form,  he  poured  some  water  between  the 
prisoner's  dry,  parched  lips.  Revived  by  the  drink, 
the  old  man  roused,  as  from  a  stupor,  and  babbled 
of  a  marvellous  scene,  of  angels  and  of  glowing 
lights;  he  saw  beyond  the  damp,  dark  prison  walls, 
and  out,  out  to  the  hill-encompassed  pastures  of  the 
Holy  Land;  the  night  wind  brought  sweet  scents 
adown  the  valley,  in  their  cot  the  white  sheep  slept 
secure,  and  over  all  the  quiet  stars  shone  bright. 

Midnight  was  passed,  when,  with  a  sudden  effort, 
the  old  man  rose,  and  standing  guant  and  tall  with 
snowy  locks  and  flowing  beard,  he  raised  his  hand 
and  pointing  upwards,  cried  aloud: — 

"See,"  his  voice  rang  out,  "the  angels,  and  the 
lights, — and,  hark  the  song." 

His  breast  heaved,  and  suddenly,  from  his  parted 
lips,  there  came  a  song  of  such  marvellous  sweetness, 
that  it  seemed,  as  if,  indeed,  an  angel  sang: — 

16 


"Glory  To  God  In  The  Highest,  And  on  Earth, 
Peace,  Good-will  To  Men." 

Through  the  cell  rang  the  exquisite  melody,  pene 
trating  even  the  solid  walls  and  forcing  its  way  to 
other  cells,  and  to  prisoners  who  there  lay  bound 
and  who  had  never  before  and  would  never  again, 
on  this  earth,  harken  to  strains  which  echoed,  thus, 
the  worship  of  high  Heaven. 

As  the  wondrous  song  ended,  the  aged  prisoner 
sank  upon  his  knees,  his  hands  clasped,  and  his  head 
thrown  backward,  for  his  earth-dimmed  eyes  beheld 
such  fair,  fair  visions, — fairer  e'en  than  those  of  the 
Judean  plains;  the  old  man's  journeyings  were  well- 
nigh  ended ;  he  stood  upon  the  border-land  of  the 
Celestial  Country,  and  gazed  into  the  fair  fields  of 
God's  sweet  Paradise;  and  as  the  faint  dawn  of 
that  Christmas  Day  brightened  the  eastern  sky,  a 
soul  went  into  the  Presence  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
the  story  of  Whose  wondrous  coming  to  this  earth 
had  so  long  been  told  and  sung,  by  David  of  Beth 
lehem. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MESSAGE 

Once  again,  the  sweet  true  story, 
Of  the  Prince  of  Life  and  Glory, 

And  His  lowly  birth; 
Read  by  ignorant  and  sages 
From  those  God-inspired  pages, 
Brings  the  message  down  the  ages: 

"Peace,  good-will  to  earth." 

'Tis  the  song  of  Heaven's  choir, 
Singing  praises  to  Messiah, 

Many  years  ago. 

While  the  shepherds  stood  all-fearing, 
First  the  glorious  message  hearing, 
And  the  heavenly  light,  appearing, 

Shone  with  wondrous  glow. 

"Haste  ye  now  to  David's  city"; 
See  the  Lord  of  love  and  pity 

In  a  manger  laid. 
He  shall  give  life  to  the  dying; 
Light  to  those  in  darkness  lying; 
Soothe  the  hearts  with  sorrow  crying, 

As  the  prophets  said. 

'Tis  to  those  whose  hearts  are  weary, 
And  whose  ways  seem  dark  and  dreary, 
That  the  words  of  love 
Come,  sweet  peace  and  comfort  bringing, 
While  the  angel  voices  singing 
Tell  of  joys  above. 


'Tis  to  rich,  to  great,  to  holy, 
To  the  weak  and  poor  and  lowly, 

All  who  love  His  name, 
That  the  message  appertaineth ; 
For  within  their  hearts  He  reigneth, 

'Tis  for  these  He  came. 

Hear  we,  then,  the  message  ringing, 
As  the  angel  voices  singing, 

On  that  Christmas  morn, 
Earth  and  sky  and  ocean  bounding, 
And  all  lands  with  joy  surrounding, 
Sent  the  glad  words  ever  sounding, 

"Christ,  the  Lord,  is  born." 


20 


CHRISTMAS 

Still  once  more  as  the  years  go  by, 

We  come  again  to  this  Holy  Night; 
And  we  seem  to  see  with  our  fancy's  eye, 
The  Star  shine  clear  in  the  Christmas  sky, 
All  aglow  with  the  wondrous  light. 

Quiet  and  still  is  Judea's  plain, 

As  the  shepherds  watch  by  their  dying  fire. 
Midnight  is  passed.  Hark,  the  joyous  strain 
Sounding  and  echoing  again  and  again, 

Sung  by  the  singers  of  Heaven's  choir. 

For  there  in  the  city  of  Israel's  King 

A  little  child  is  born  this  day. 
No  wonder  it  is  that  the  Seraphs  sing, 
That  heavenly  Alleluias  ring 

And  that  angels  their  homage  pay. 

For  as  the  Scriptures  have  ever  read : 

From  Bethlehem-Judah  shall  come  the  King  ; 
And  shepherds,  bowed  at  His  lowly  bed, 
Behold  their  King,  as  the  Prophet  said: 
'Tis  Messiah's  birth  that  the  Angels  sing. 

And  we  join  today  with  a  perfect  right 
To  sing  His  praises,  for  this  we  know: 
That  shepherds  lowly  and  angels  bright 
Worshipped  Him  under  the  Christmas  light 
In  Bethlehem-Judah  long  years  ago. 


21 


THE  CHRIST-BLUME 

A  Legend  of  the  Black  Forest 

'Twas  the  eve  of  the  blessed  Christmas, 

The  snow  fell  thick  and  fast, 
And  Hans,  the  woodman,  shivered 

As  he  faced  the  angry  blast. 
Onward  he  went  towards  his  cottage, 

But  his  heart  was  very  sad  ; 
For  he'd  naught  at  this  joyous  season 

To  make  his  children  glad. 

As  he  hurried  on  through  the  forest, 

He  was  startled  the  sound  to  hear, 
Above  the  roar  of  the  winter's  storm, 

Of  a  child's  voice,  sweet  and  clear. 
He  searched,  and  found,  'neath  a  mighty  oak 

Which  grew  by  the  cottage  door, 
A  child  more  fair  than  any  child 

He  ever  had  seen  before. 

He  raised  the  child  in  his  arms  with  care, 

And  carried  it  in  with  him, 
Where  his  two  small  children  gathered  'round 

In  the  fire-light,  poor  and  dim. 
Wee  Gretchen  gave  her  own  brown  crust 

For  the  beauteous  child  to  eat; 
And  Hanchen,  too,  gave  his  coat  to  wrap 

The  cold  and  tired  feet. 

The  mother  held  him  until  he  slept, 

Then  laid  him  upon  her  bed, 
And  the  fire-light  threw^  a  radiance 

Like  a  halo,  'round  his  head. 


22 


And  so  they  rested ;  but  when  the  sun 

Rose  on  that  Christmas  morn, 
And  threw  its  light  o'er  the  fair,  white  world, 

The  stranger  child  was  gone. 
He  had  spoken  no  word,  and  they  knew  him  not, 

But  for  love  of  the  Saviour  mild 
They  had  warmed,  and  fed  of  their  little  store, 

Even  this  little  child. 

And  a  sweet  and  gracious  fragrance, 

Like  incense,  floated  round, 
And  Hanchen  found,  'neath  the  old  oak  tree, 

Grown  in  the  frozen  ground, 
A  group  of  fair  blue  flowers 

The  cottage  door-step  nigh, 
Which  seemed  to  lift  their  little  heads 

In  praise  to  God  on  high. 

And  in  each  little  flower 

Was  a  heart  of  purest  gold. 
'Tis  the  tale  of  the  fair  Christ-blume, 

As  read  in  the  legends  old ; 
And  they  say  'twas  the  blessed  Christ-Child 
Who  came  from  Heaven  above, 
And  left  the  fair  blue  flowers 

As  tokens  of  His  love. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

A  Legend  of  Palestine 

Long  years  ago,  in  a  far-off  land, 
On  the  first,  great  Christmas  morn, 
The  angels  offered  glad  songs  of  praise, 
When  the  sweet  Christ-Child  was  born. 

The  lowly  shepherds  came  hastily, 
With  wonder,  the  Babe  to  greet, 
And  offered  their  simple  homage, 
At  the  holy  Christ-Child's  feet. 

While  journ'ying,  too,  came  the  Three  Wise  Men, 
Led  on  by  the  shining  Star; — 
Who  offered  the  Christ-Child,  precious  gifts, 
Borne  over  the  deserts,  afar. 

But  a  certain  little  Jewish  lad 
Who  dwelt  by  the  lowly  place, 
Stood  weeping  sadly,  while  the  tears 
Streamed  down  his  ruddy  face. 

And  as  he  wept,  an  angel  bright, 
Stood  near,  and  asked  the  boy; — 
"My  child,  why  is  it  that  you  weep, 
At  this  glad  time  of  joy?" 

"I've  never  a  gift,"  the  child  replied 
To  this  spirit,  from  above; 
"To  give  to  yon  little  Baby  fair, 
To  show  him  of  my  love." 

"Thou  shalt  have  a  gift,"  the  angel  said, 
"Behold  thy  tear";   and  there, 

24 


Where  the  lad's  tear  fell,  as  he  wept  so  sore, 
Was  a  rose-bud,  sweet  and  fair. 

"Now  take  this  gift,"  the  angel  said, 

"As  an  offering  of  thy  love." 

And  the  rose  was  touched  by  the  morning  light, 

Like  a  radiance,  from  above. 

Then  the  boy  did  haste,  with  his  offering, 
And  Mary,  sweet  and  mild, 
Held  the  rose,  before  her  Baby's  eyes, 
And  the  little  Christ-Child  smiled. 

And  when,  now,  in  the  dead  of  winter, 
The  roses  bloom  and  grow ; 
'Tis  because  of  the  little  lad's  of? ring, 
In  Bethlehem,  long  ago. 


THE  BABUSHKA 

A  Russian  Christmas  Legend 

Gathered  'round  the  glowing  fire, 
As  the  Christmas-tide  draws  near, 
'Tis  this  legend,  which  the  children 
Of  the  Russian  peasant  hear. 

O'er  the  desert,  journ'ying  westward, 
Came  the  Wise  Men,  from  afar; 
Following,  with  joyful  wonder, 
That  mysterious,  beaming  Star. 

Nestled  in  a  green  oasis, 
Stood  a  cottage,  neat  and  small; 
Here  the  wearied  Wise  Men  rested, 
'Neath  the  grateful  palm-trees  tall. 

And  they  urged  the  aged  woman, 
Who  dwelt  there,  beside  the  spring ; — 
"Leave  thine  house,  and  with  us  journey 
To  do  homage,  to  the  King." 

But  she  answered,  "Nay,  my  masters; 
I  must  bake  and  brew,  today, 
But,  when  all  my  work  is  finished, 
I  will  follow  on  your  way." 

All  that  day  the  busy  house-wife 
Laboured,  with  no  thought  of  rest; 
And  her  labour  was  not  ended, 
Till  the  sun  sank,  in  the  west. 


26 


"But  tomorrow,  I  will  follow," 
Thought  she,  and  an  offering 
Of  her  cakes  and  sweets  she  gathered, 
To  bear  with  her  to  the  King. 

So  she  started  on  her  journey, 
O'er  the  desert,  westward  ly ; 
But  no  sign  of  the  Three  Strangers 
Or  their  pathway  could  she  see. 

Still  she  journeyed,  and  is  journeying — 
So  'tis  said,  unto  this  day, 
Ever  hoping  she  may  find  Him 
Whom  she  lost  by  her  delay. 

Ev'ry  year,  as  comes  His  birth- time, 
To  the  children,  does  she  bring 
Gifts ;  still  in  her  sad  heart  hoping, 
Thus  to  find  the  Infant  King. 

They  are  His,  Who  on  that  Christmas, 
Came  to  earth,  an  Infant  mild  ; 
So,  perhaps,  the  sad  Babushka 
Really  serves  the  fair  Christ-Child. 


27 


AN  EASTER  MIRACLE 

In  the  cold,  dark  earth  of  the  garden, 

Afar  by  the  eastern  wall, 
A  small  brown  bulb  I  planted 

One  day  in  the  early  fall. 

Then  I  watched,  as  the  days  passed  onward, 

But  I  saw  no  sign  of  life ; 
So  I  said,  "I  will  watch  no  longer." 

Though  my  heart  with  pain  was  rife. 

When  long  days  and  months  had  flown, 

One  glorious  Easter  morn, 
I  walked  in  the  dew-wet  garden 

As  soon  as  the  day  was  born  ; 

For  I  searched  to  find  some  flower, 
'Mongst  all  those  blossoms  sweet, 

Worthy  to  lie  on  the  altar 
At  my  risen  Saviour's  feet. 

As  I  walked  towards  the  eastern  corner, 

I  saw,  in  the  sun's  first  rays, 
A  spray  of  fair  white  lillies 

With  their  faces  raised  in  praise; 

Up  to  the  sky  above  them, 

And  up  to  the  sun's  clear  light, 
Which  filled  each  flower  with  beauty  ^ 

As  they  bloomed  there  fair  and  white. 

Then  I  fell  on  my  knees  in  wonder, 

At  the  miracle  thus  wrought, 
And  I  thanked  my  Lord  for  the  lesson 

By  the  beauteous  flowers  taught. 

28 


For  the  little  bulb  once  planted 

In  the  earth  so  dark  and  cold, 
Had  grown  to  these  fair  white  lilies 

Bright  with  the  sunlight  gold. 

And  now  I  know  how  a  "corn  of  wheat 

Must  fall  in  the  ground  and  die." 
And  that  those  laid  away  with  sorrow 

Shall  live  beyond  the  sky. 

That  day,  'neath  the  Cross,  on  the  Altar, 

The  lilies  bloomed  fair  and  white, 
While  we  sang  of  the  resurrection 

Of  the  Lord  of  Life  and  Light. 

FROM  DARKNESS  UNTO  LIGHT 

The  earth  is  silent,  hushed  in  awful  sorrow : 

The  breeze  of  heaven  comes  with  sobbing  breath, 

As  if  celestial  beings,  from  God's  high  throne, 
Bend  low  in  grief,  for  One,  laid  still  in  death. 

See  where  the  shadows  of  yon  gloomy  garden 
Stretch;    where  the  night  winds  sadly  moan  and 
sigh: 

Hark  to  the  murmuring  Kedron's  bitter  waters : 
Behold  that  tomb,  wherein  One  dead  doth  lie. 

Fall  down,  my  soul,  in  deep  and  bitter  anguish ; 

On  the  cold  ground,  keep  watch  throughout  the 

night  ; 
Thy  Master  lies  within  that  sealed  prison, 

Whereon  doth  fall  the  paschal  moon's  pale  light. 


And  what  but  sin  has  caused  thy  Master's  suffer 
ings? 
Sin  of  a  thousand  souls,  like  unto  thee ; 

29 


Sin,  from  whose  thralling  bonds  the  Lord,  Who  loved 

thee, 

Hath  died;    that  by  His  death,  thou  might'st  be 
free. 

Canst  thou  repay  such  boundless  love  and  pity, 
Thou  who  dost  fall  so  oft,  from  day  to  day  ? 

Thou  canst  but  kneel  beside  His  tomb,  and  watch 
ing 
Through  the  long  night,  in  deepest  anguish,  pray. 

Deep  and  more  deeply  still  the  shadows  gather, 
In  that  dark  hour  which  comes  before  the  dawn  ; 

But  hope,  my  soul,  for  with  a  radiant  splendor, 
Is  breaking  now,  the  Resurrection  morn. 

Thy  night  of  anguished  prayer,  in  joy  is  ended, 
The  darksome  shadows  from  the  earth  have  fled, 

Sorrow  is  past ;   for  in  a  light  transcendent, 
Thy  Master,  Christ,  is  risen  from  the  dead! 

Then  rise,  my  soul !    The  Easter  morning  breaking, 
Must  find  thee  hast'ning  forward  on  thy  way, 

To  tell  the  world,  that  Christ  the  Lord  is  risen  ; 
That  o'er  the  earth,  no  longer  death  holds  sway. 

Yet  ere  thou  haste,  draw  near,  though  scarce  thou 
darest, 

To  offer  Him  a  gift  so  poor,  so  small  ; 
In  the  fair  radiance  of  this  Easter  morning, 

Give  to  thy  Lord  thy  love,  thy  life,  thine  all. 

Then  bear  abroad,  the  joyous  Easter  Message 
To  souls  still  bound  in  suffering  and  sin; 

Tell  how  He  raiseth  them  and  giveth  courage 
To  fight ;  and,  in  His  strength,  the  fight  to  win. 

30 


Tell  how  thy  Master  hath,  in  love,  redeemed  thee, 
Bound  as  thou  wert  in  darkness  of  the  night. 

All  through  the  day,  declare  His  power  and  glory; 
That  He,  thy  Saviour,  giveth  life  and  light. 

Then  when  the  Resurrection  day  is  over; 

When  from  thy  task  of  love,  thou  find'st  release, 
Out  of  the  hush  of  silence  of  the  evening, 

Thy  risen  Lord  shall  speak,  and  give  His  Peace. 


ASCENSION  LILIES 

Ascension  lilies,  pure  and  fair  and  white, 
Lifting  their  faces  to  the  morning  light, 

This  holy  day; 

Now  kept  in  memory  of  the  time,  when  He, 
Who  taught  beside  the  blue  Tiberian  sea, 
And  from  the  hills  of  lowly  Galilee, 

Went  far  away. 

And  left  the  men  who  knew  so  well  His  love, 
Gazing  in  wonder  at  the  clouds  above 

Fair  Olivet: 

Where  He  had  led  them  that  Ascension  morn, 
When  all  the  earth  was  touched  \vith  fairest  dawn, 
And  blessing  them,  in  clouds  aloft  was  borne; 

Nor  cometh  yet. 

But  angels  fair,  who  welcomed  back  their  King, 
Ceased  the  triumphant  hymns  the  hosts  did  sing, 

And  bending  low  ; 

Told  to  these  waiting  ones,  how  to  their  sight, 
The  Lord,  enthroned  in  glory,  power  and  might, 
Should  come  when  they  had  brought  unto  His  light  ; 

All  things  below. 


Then  as  they  went,  in  wondering  and  fear, 
Still  longing  for  the  Master's  presence  dear, 

Nor  strengthened  yet ; 

They  found  along  the  pathway  He  had  trod 
While  last  on  earth,  the  mighty  Son  of  God, 
White  lilies  fair,  upon  a  firm  green  rod, 

'Neath  Heaven  set. 

All  sprung  to  life,  where  last  His  sacred  feet 
Had  touched  the  earth.    Ascension  lilies  sweet. 

Then  seemed  He  near. 

And  so  He  gives,  as  flowers  to  mark  the  way, 
A  path  from  which  His  children  may  not  stray, 
The  sequence  of  each  glad  and  holy  day; 

The  Christian  Year. 

And  if  we  follow  from  the  Holy  Birth, 

On  through  the  life  of  Him  Who  dwelt  on  earth, 

In  wondrous  love; 
Watch,  fast,  and  pray,  with  Him  through  that  dark 

night 

Which  ends  in  radiant  resurrection  light, 
We  shall  behold  Him  in  His  glorious  might, 
Ascend  above. 

'Tis  thus  the  Master  marks  the  path  below, 
That  where  He  trod  we  need  not  fear  to  go ; — 

A  path  of  light 

Which  leads  us  onward  to  His  presence  blest. 
So  we,  who  on  the  upward  path  have  pressed, 
And  come  at  last  unto  the  holy  rest 
Of  Paradise,  shall  in  its  fields  so  bright, 
Gather  Ascension  lilies,  pure  and  white. 


ALL  SAINTS 
"THE  COMMUNION  OF  SAINTS" 

All  Saints;    Sweet  festival  of  autumn  days, 

When  peace  broods  o'er  the  earth  and  all  is  still; 

When,  through  the  vailing  of  autumnal  haze, 
One  sees  the  outline  of  each  midst-blue  hill. 

Sweet  festival  which  holds  us  to  the  past, 
And  makes  us  one,  with  holy  saints  of  old ; 

And  yet  is  sacred  to  those  blessed  last 

Who  only  in  our  hearts,  their  sainthood  hold. 

O  blest  communion,  which  can  draw  us  near 
To  all  the  numbers  of  that  mighty  host; 

Which  bids  us  cease  from  sorrowing  and  fear, 
And  teaches  that  not  one  dear  saint  is  lost; 

But  all,  life's  journey  ended,  are  at  rest 

In  that  new  home,  which  in  God's  realms  lies, 

Which  by  Christ's  holy  presence  has  been  blest, 
And  which  we  love  to  call  God's  Paradise. 

We  cannot  know,  we  cannot  dream  the  life, 
Led  by  the  souls  whom  God  has  called  to  rest; 

But  this  we  know,  that  free  from  pain  and  strife, 
They  wait  the  resurrection  of  the  blest. 

May  it  not  be,  that  called  so  soon  from  earth, 
God  has  for  some  a  higher  work  to  do? 

These  souls  empowered  by  a  glorious  birth, 
To  lead  still  other  souls  to  knowledge  new? 

And  with  that  peace  which  comes  into  our  days 
A  wondrous  presence  all  about  us  thrills; 

33 


An  all-encircling  myst'ry,  like  the  haze, 

Which  wraps  in  silver  vail  the  mist-blue  hills. 

While  through  the  tender  stillness,  as  in  dreams, 
The  voice  of  some  dear  saint  comes  from  afar 

With  words  of  loving  converse ;   and  it  seems 
The  gates  of  Paradise  must  stand  ajar. 

So  keeps  the  church,  the  feast,  wherein  are  we, 
Drawn  nearer  to  the  saints  whom  still  we  love ; 

Until  those  waiting,  and  on  earth  shall  be, 

The  great  Triumphant  Church,  in  Heaven  above. 


SANCTISSIMA  MATER  DEI 

The  legend  connected  with  Holbein's  fcunous  Ma 
donna   in    the   Dresden    Gallery 

The  son  of  the  Burgomaster, 
A  child  of  summers  three, 

Lay  sick  of  a  deadly  fever, 
Upon  his  mother's  knee. 
His  eyes  were  glazed  with  anguish, 

And  gasping  was  his  breath; 
Despite  the  leech's  knowledge, 
Near  was  relentness  death. 

Now  fair  was  the  child  to  look  on, 

Beloved  by  everyone; 
The  joy  of  the  burgomaster; 

His  hope,  his  only  son. 
But  those  who  watched  beside  him, 

Their  hearts  with  anguish  rife, 
Knew  that  soon,  death  must  conquer 

The  child's  weak  spark  of  life. 


34 


Then  spake  the  Burgomaster : — 

"The  child  is  about  to  die; 
Kneel,  kneel  and  the  Holy  Virgin 

Mayhap  will  hear  our  cry. 
Sanctissima  Mater  Dei, 

O  hear  our  humble  prayer; 
And  heal  this  child  of  his  sickness, 

For  love  of  thy  Son  so  fair." 

Then  into  the  hush  of  silence, 
Broken  but  by  the  infant's  moan, 
And  the  voice  of  the  anguished  mother, 
As  she  soothed  him  in  gentle  tone, 

There  came  a  wondrous  presence, 
The  Mother  of  the  Lord  ; 

And  in  her  arms,  she  carried 
The  Son  of  the  most  high  God. 

And  she  placed  Him  down  among  them, 

As  they  knelt  all  wondering  there, 
To  $ee  how  the  Holy  Mother, 

Had  answered  their  humble  prayer; 
And  she  took  from  its  little  cradle, 

The  Burgomaster's  child, 
And  held  it  upon  her  holy  breast, 

Till  it  ceased  to  moan,  and  smiled. 

And  while  they  gazed  upon  her, 

And  marvelled  as  they  kneeled, 
She  stooped,  with  the  little  infant 

Of  its  deathly  sickness  healed: 
Then  as  it  laughed  so  gaily, 

Released  from  its  fevered  pain, 
From  His  lowly  place  among  them, 

She  lifted  her  Son  again. 


35 


But  ere  the  vision  faded  ; 

While  they  wondered  at  such  grace; 
They  saw  that  a  look  of  sufFring 

Had  come  o'er  the  Christ-Child's  face. 
The  Burgomaster's  baby 

Was  as  well  as  e'er  before, 
But  his  fevered  pain  and  sufFring, 

The  Son  of  Mary  bore. 

And  thus,  says  the  strange  old  legend, 

As  He  oft  should  do  again, 
The  Saviour  took  the  sufFring, 
Laid  on  the  sons. of  men. 

Sanctissima  Mater  Dei, 

E'en  so  thy  Holy  Son 
Suffered  upon  the  Mountain; — 

And  a  world's  salvation  won. 

A  LITTLE  CHILD 

"Jesus  called  a  little  child  unto  Him."     St.  Matt. 
xviii:2 

A  little  child ;    the  Master  called  it  to  Him, 
To  stand  beside  Him  as  He  wisely  taught: 
The  little  one  could  never  know  the  wisdom, 
With   which    the    Master's   words    and    acts   were 

fraught ; 

It  only  knew,  that  here  was  One  so  tender, 
Withall  so  full  of  gentleness  and  grace, 
That  childish  fears  were  lost,  and  childish  sorrows 
Were  soothed,  by  looking  in  the  Master's  face. 

And  He,  who  held,  and  blessed  the  little  children; 
Who  bade  their  mothers  bring  them  to  His  arms; 
Who  knew,  Himself,  the  pains  and  joys  of  child 
hood  ; 

36 


And  who  would   shield   them   from   all   fears   and 

harms ; 

Has  called  another  child.     O,  weeping  mother, 
Who  fain  would'st  clasp  thy  baby  to  thy  breast, 
Fear  not;    the  Master  knows  thy  pain  and  heart 
ache, 
And  He  would  have  thee  trust  in  Him,  and  rest. 

We  cannot  know  how,  in  the  years  before  her, 
Thy  little  one  had  found  the  way  of  life; 
The  little  feet  been  bruised  on  the  rough  pathway; 
The  tender  heart  hurt  with  the  world's  sad  strife; 
Some  nameless  sorrow  stilled  the  merry  laughter; 
Or  sufFring  dimmed  her  happy  eyes  with  pain; 
Friends  failed,  and  love  grown  cold,  with  disappoint 
ment, 
In  striving  for  the  end  she  could  not  gain. 

From  fear  of  such,  saved  by  His  loving  mercy, — 
Who  sees  things  holden  to  our  mortal  eyes; — 
The  dear  child-spirit,  fair,  unharmed  and  holy, 
Rests  'mid  the  flow'rs  of  God's  sweet  Paradise. 
And  though,  thou  can'st  not  see,  with  tear-dimmed 

vision, 

Thou  can'st,  in  sweet  communion,  deeply  love; 
And  through  the  Master's  grace,  thy  prayerful  sor 
row 
Receive  a  benediction  from  above. 

He  blessed,  with  gracious  word  the  little  children, 
The  mothers  brought;    they  in  His  love  believed. 
Made  His  in  baptism,  where  thou  gav'st  rejoicing, 
Doubt  not  He  hath  thy  little  one  received. 
O  sorrowing  mother,  in  His  mercy  trusting, 
This  thought,  we  pray,  shall  make  thy  grief  more 

mild  ; 

In  wise  and  tender  love,  the  gracious  Master 
Has  called  unto  Himself  THY  little  child. 

37 


EVENING 

The  evening  shades  are  falling;   all  is  rest; 
The  sun  is  slowly  sinking  in  the  west. 

The  clouds  float  o'er  me,  rose  across  the  blue, 
Touched  by  the  sunset  to  a  golden  hue. 

There  comes  to  me,  across  the  distant  swell, 
The  gentle  tinkling  of  a  far-off  bell. 

Sweet,  childish  voices,  borne  upon  the  wind 
Bring  happy  fancies  to  my  musing  mind. 

A  little  bird  sings  sweetly  from  its  nest: 

The  flowers  droop;   the  breeze  lulls  them  to  rest. 

The  sun's  last  rays  emblaze  the  pine-trees  tall, 
While  far  away  I  hear  a  night-bird's  call. 

And  blue  as  sapphires  lies  the  lake  below, 
Its  waters  moving  towards  the  river's  flow. 

'Midst  all  this  beauty  comes  there  without  cease, 
The  voice  of  the  Creator  saying — "Peace." 


GOOD-BYE 

"Good-bye."    We  say  this  little  word,  and  part, 
Light  hearted,  for  we  shall  soon  shall  meet  again. 
"Good-bye."     'Tis  such  a  lightsome  word  to  say, 
We  speak  it  with  no  thought  of  grief  or  pain: 
We  have  but  parted  for  a  summer  day; 
The  time  is  short,  and  so  "Good-bye,"  we  say. 

"Good-bye."    The  birds  sing  brightly  and  the  sun 

Shines  all  about  us  with  a  tender  light  ; 

Right  gaily  is  our  parting  greeting  made, 

The  same  words  be  our  friendship  great  or  slight : 

Perhaps  'tis  the  acquaintance  of  a  day, 

Or  some  dear  one  who  o'er  our  heart  holds  sway. 

It  may  be  with  the  morrow's  rising  sun 
We  meet  again,  upon  the  selfsame  road ; 
And  yet  it  may  be  that  our  paths  no  more 
Shall  meet,  as  bending  'neath  our  lifework's  load, 
We  travel  on  'neath  bright  or  gloomy  sky; 
And  yet  at  parting  we  but  said — "Good-bye." 

Perhaps  one  close  unto  our  hearts  has  passed, 
Before  us  to  the  strange  and  misty  shore, 
And  as  the  quivering  breath  grew  faint  and  ceased 
And  when  the  last  sharp  pain  of  life  was  o'er, 
One  bent  and  from  a  breaking  heart  gave  cry, 
In  bitter  anguish — "O,  beloved, — good-bye." 

And  thus  it  is;  this  greeting  as  we  part, 
Until  tomorrow,  or  for  many  a  day ; 
Though  land  and  sea  stretch  vastly  in  between, 
Or  dear  ones  pass  from  this,  our  earth  away: 
In  hope,  in  joy,  with  heartache  and  with  pain 
We  say,  "Good-bye,  until  we  meet  again." 


39 


What  is  the  meaning  of  our  parting  words? 
'Tis  "God  be  with  you,"  that  we  fain  would  say; 
And  meaning  this  we  need  no  fairer  speech, 
To  speed  a  friend  along  life's  winding  way. 
"May  God  be  with  you";    hark,  those  words  how 

sweet ; 
"May  God  be  with  you,  friend,  until  we  meet." 

So  be  it  for  long  years  we  part,  or  else 
Until  the  morn ;   the  passing  of  death's  night : 
Through  gladsome  days,  or  nights  of  weary  toil, 
When  all  seems  dark,  with  no  faint  gleam  of  light: 
We  cry  from  hearts  o'er  full  of  joy  or  pain, — 
"May  God  be  with  you,  till  we  meet  again." 

THE  SUNSET-LAND 

Come  with  me,  my  beloved, 
Let  us  go  hand-in-hand, 
Together  to  view  the  wonders 
Of  the  marvellous  Sunset-Land. 

Close  to  the  murm'ring  waters 
Of  the  never-silent  sea; 
Over  the  shining  sea-sand, 
There  let  our  pathway  be. 

Dark  is  the  sea,  and  low'ring 
The  clouds  that  conceal  the  sky, 
And  the  waters  pulse,  as  in  anguish, 
One  sobs,  yet  may  not  cry. 

Then  come  with  me,  come  from  this  sadness, 
You  and  I,  hand  in  hand, 
And  view  from  yon  towering  sand-dune 
The  wonderful  Sunset-Land. 


40 


Yonder  it  stretches,  where  westward 
Gloweth  the  red  and  gold ; 
Like  the  lights  of  the  Holy  City, 
Seen  by  St.  John  of  old. 

Lights  from  the  windows  of  Heaven, 
Shown  to  us  now  and  again, 
Depicting  to  human  fancy, 
Beauties  beyond  our  ken. 

For  the  wonderful  beauty  of  sunset 
O'er  the  sky  and  the  land  and  the  sea, 
Is  a  vision  of  all  the  beauty, 
In  the  Heavenly  City  to  be. 

No  sorrow  can  be  there,  no  sickness, 
No  trouble,  nor  suffering,  nor  pain, 
But  joy  which  is  stainless  and  endless 
In  that  marvellous  Country  shall  reign. 

So  come  with  me  up  from  the  sadness, 
From  the  pulsing,  sobbing  sea, 
Let  us  fly  t'wards  the  Land  of  the  Sunset, 
Where  the  colors  of  hope  we  see. 

To  the  wonderful  Land  of  the  Sunset, 
Where  all  must  be  gladness  and  love, 
And  behold  there  an  earthly  vision, 
Of  the  glories  to  be  above. 


CLOUD-SHIPS 

Over  the  sky,  like  a  sea, 

The  cloud-ships  are  sailing, 
Led  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 

Now  shining,  now  paling. 

Out  past  its  fair  silver  light, 

On  into  the  ocean; 
Borne  on  the  winds  of  the  night 

With  swift,  wave-like  motion. 

Far  all  alone  in  the  sky 

A  little  star  shineth ; 
There,  for  my  cloud-ships,  the  way 

It  clearly  outlineth. 

It  points  them  along  to  the  east, 

'Tis  there  they  are  going, 
Where  fair  in  the  rosy  dawn 

The  sun  will  be  glowing. 

So  in  our  lives,  though  the  way 

Be  rough  and  uneven, 
Each   one   has   a   light  which   shall   guide 

To  God  and  to  heaven. 


42 


THE   STORM-KING 

''Make  way,  for  the  King;  lo,  he  comes,  make  way." 
'Tis  the  voice  of  his  herald,  the  Wind; 

And  the  Storm-King  follows,  in  great  array, 
In  his  royal  garments,  of  black  and  gray, 

While  his  cloud-mantle  floats,  behind. 

In  his  hand,  is  a  sceptre  of  forked  light, 

As  onward,  he  swiftly  whirls; 
On  his  head,  is  a  coronet  of  might, 

And  shining  and  sparkling,  'tis  wondrous  bright, 
With  raindrops,  like  countless  pearls. 

He  comes,  with  a  pow'r,  which  none  can  resist, 

He  knows  none  but  Nature's  Law; 
Would  any  withstand  him,  in  blinding  mist 

He  'nshrouds  them,  till  to  his  commands  they  list ; 
And  his  voice  is  the  thunder's  roar. 

Yet  kind  in  his  might,  from  a  kingly  hand, 
Where  the  valleys  lie  thick  with  grain, 

Where  the  hills  and  the  mountains  in  silence  stand, 
O'er  the  fields  of  a  dry  and  thirsty  land, 

He  scatters  the  drops  of  rain. 


43 


THE  DAISY'S  MISSION 

A  little  daisy  growing  in  the  grass, 
Longed  to  be  mighty  like  the  stately  trees 
Whose  branches,  reaching  upward  to  the  sky, 
Were  softly  rustled  by  the  summer  breeze. 

"I  would  that  men  could  rest  beneath  my  shade, 
That  birds  might  light  upon  my  branches  high, 
Here  grow  I  all  unheeded,  useless,  small," 
This  was  the  daisy's  oft  repeated  cry. 

And  then  one  sunny  day  as  it  complained 

And   wished   that   all   these   things   might   come   to 

pass, 

A  little  lad  came  running  o'er  the  field, 
And  stooping,  took  the  daisy  from  the  grass. 

He  placed  it  in  the  white  and  feeble  hand 
Of  a  small  child  lain  sick  for  many  a  day, 
The  fevered  eyes  grew  softer,  tossings  ceased, 
Holding  the  daisy,  still  the  sick  child  lay. 

She  stroked  the  soft  white  petals,  then  she  asked ; — 
"O  Brother  will  you  take  me  where  they  grow? 
When  I  am  well  again ;    O  take  me  please, 
I  want  to  see  the  daisies  white  as  snow." 

"I'll  take  you  then  to  see  the  mighty  trees, 
And  some  of  them  are  very,  very  old," 
"I  do  not  want  the  trees,"  the  child  replied, 
I  only  want  the  flowers  with  hearts  of  gold." 

The  little  daisy  now  was  comforted 

And  felt  itself  abundant  in  its  wealth. 

Soothed  by  the  beauty  of  the  little  flower, 

The  child  soon  slept  the  sleep  of  strength  and  health. 


The  little  daisy  thus  its  work  performed, 
E'en  though  it  thought  itself  so  poor  and  small ; 
A  work  it  surely  never  could  have  done 
If  it  had  been  an  oak-tree  grand  and  tall. 

So  in  our  lives  God  gives  us  power  to  make 
Some  other  life  more  pure,  more  fair,  more  bright : 
Our  hearts  should  then  be  strong  as  well-tried  gold, 
And  pure  as  daisies'  petals,  fair  and  white. 

DOWN  IN  THE  MEADOW 

Down  in  the  sunny  field,  midst  the  bright  clover, 
Nodding  and  smiling  over  and  over, 
Is  gay  little  Timothy,  happy  to  meet 
Such  a  sweet  little  lady  as  fair  Marguerite. 

Sweet  Marguerite,  with  a  gown  of  pure  white, 
And  a  heart  that  is  filled  with  the  sun's  golden  light  ; 
She  nods  to  small  Timothy,  smiling  and  gay, 
And  they  talk  there  together  throughout  the  bright 
day. 

The  blue  sky  above  them  is  shining  and  bright 
And  their  small  hearts  are  filled  with  a  joyous  de 
light. 

The  birds  whisper  secrets  as  upward  they  fly, 
From  the  flower  decked  fields  to  the  blue  summer 
sky. 

Bees  search  through  the  clover  for  honey  so  sweet 
And  they  borrow  a  little  from  fair  Marguerite; 
Then  Timothy  says:    "You've  enough  and  to  spare; 
I'd  take  a  kiss  too  if  I  only  might  dare." 

Then  Marguerite  looks  at  the  sky  overhead 

And  pretends  to  have  heard  not  a  word  that  he  said, 

45 


But  Timothy's  smile,  the  whole  story  can  tell 
And   Margeurite  loves  her  small   sweetheart   full 
well. 

What  care  these  gay  lovers  if  now  and  again 
The  dark  clouds  pile  up,  and  down  comes  the  rain  ? 
They  hide  their  small  heads  'neath  the  broad  clover 

leaves, 
And  when  it  is  over  are  gay  as  you  please. 

So  happy  and  gay  in  the  bright  summer  weather, 
These  two  little  lovers  are  talking  together; 
Our  blithesome  young  Timothy  bowing  to  meet 
His  dear  little  sweetheart — the  fair  Marguerite. 

MY  VALENTINE 

I  wooed  her  in  the  spring-time, 
When  oft  we  chanced  to  meet; 
No  violet  beneath  the  grass, 
Was,  than  my  love,  more  sweet. 

I  wooed  her  in  the  summer, 
Bright  days  'neath  sunny  skies; 
When  oft,  I  thought,  their  azure  depths 
Had  rested  in  her  eyes. 

I  wooed  her  in  the  autumn, 
With  red  and  gold  aflame; 
The  color  in  my  lady's  cheeks, 
The  maples,  turned  to  shame. 

I  wooed  her  in  the  winter, 

When  snow  was  in  the  air ; 

No  white  flake,  fall'n  from  heaven's  pure  breast, 

Was,  than  my  love,  more  fair. 

46 


Then,  when  St.  Valentine's  was  come, 

I  could  no  longer  wait ; 

So  praying  Cupid's  tender  aid, 

I  went  to  learn  my  fate. 

"Sweet  maid,"  I  cried,  "O  pity  me, 
And  be  my  Valentine; 
Give  me  your  heart,  or  I  must  die, 
For  you  have  taken  mine." 

I  saw  the  merry,  winsome  smile, 
That  'round  her  sweet  mouth  crept, 
And  yet  I  felt  the  tender  look 
Which  in  her  blue  eyes  slept. 

And  when  she  spoke,  'twas  this  she  said 

"An  adage  old  I  find 

Is  very  true ;  'tis  proved  by  you : 

It  is  that,  'Love  is  blind.'  " 

"Were  it  not  so,  you  would  have  seen, 
This  foolish  heart  of  mine, 
You  won  from  me  a  year  ago; 
'Tis  last  year's  Valentine." 


47 


THE  UNFORTUNATE 

He  woke  one  morn  and  found  himself  a  man, 
Who,  would  he  live,  must  earn  his  daily  bread; 
He  scorned  the  manual  labor  of  the  fields; 
He  scorned  the  lowly  life  his  parents  shared : 
He  left  the  country,  made  so  fair  by  God, 
To  all  its  beauties  strangely,  sadly  blind; 
Within  the  man-made  town  he  thought  to  live ; 
He  went,  and  lo,  he  left  his  life  behind. 

At  first  with  pulses  quickened  by  the  rush 
And  mighty  turmoil  of  the  city's  life, 
He  joined  exulting  with  the  surging  crowd, 
Which  plunges  daily  in  a  gasping  strife; 
Where  thousands  fighting  for  life's  endless  needs; 
The  weak  along  the  wayside  fall  and  faint, 
And  victors  bearing  off  their  hard-won  gains, 
Bear  with  them  oft  dishonor's  foul  taint. 

He  was  but  one,  in  thousands ;  no  man  cared 

For  this  poor  atom,  borne  upon  the  tide; 

He  plunged  into  the  maelstrom  of  despair, 

And  wondered  that  ere  born  he  had  not  died. 

At  last  he  hung  upon  the  whirlpool's  edge, 

Temptation  bore  him  down  with  deadening  weight, 

No  longer  did  he  lift  his  heart  to  God; 

Who  in  that  mighty  crowd  would  mourn  his  fate? 

And  then,  one  spoke  to  him,  and  stretched  a  hand 

To  draw  him  back  from  that  engulfing  sea; 

He  felt  that  strange,  instinctive  love  of  life, 

Because  he  knew  one  cared  that  he  should  be. 

So  he  arose,  a  man  again,  and  strove 

In  this  new  life  to  bear  his  proper  part; 

And  through  the  darkness  saw  one  gleam  of  light, 

Because  he  loved,  and  held  a  woman's  heart. 

48 


Too  proud  to  labor  in  the  verdant  fields 
Which  God  had  given  for  his  free  estate ; 
He  searched  the  city  for  some  means  of  life; 
His  heart  oft  filled  with  fear  or  biting  hate. 
He  saw  the  eyes  of  her  he  loved  grow  sad 
With  want  and  sickness  and  the  heart's  deep  pain  ; 
He  heard  his  children  cry  to  him  for  bread  ; 
He  stumbled,  rose,  and  struggled  on  again. 

He  struggles  thus,   through   days  and   nights,   like 

years ; 

Not  like  the  days,  whose  birth  the  rising  sun 
Heralds,  and  shines  upon,  and  sinks  to  rest 
In  floods  of  glory  when  its  course  is  run ; 
But  day,  which,  through  the  city's  fog  and  smoke, 
Looks  down  upon  its  turmoil  and  its  strife, 
The  ceaseless  noise,  the  suffering  and  death, 
That  make  the  city's  never-resting  life. 

And  when  the  evening  falls,  it  is  not  lit 

By  twinkling  stars,  the  azure  depths  within; 

But  rows  of  man-made  lights,  there,  seem  to  strive 

To  search  the  midnight  for  man's  pain  and  sin. 

'Tis  not  the  night  when,  resting  from  his  toil, 

Man  feels  upon  his  brow  the  night-wind's  breath, 

But  darkness,  that  in  many  a  crowded  court 

Is  but  the  harbinger  of  crime  and  death. 

This  is  the  life  he  leads;   and  so  he  stands 
A  man  bent  low,  and  aged  before  his  time  ; 
Body  and  soul  o'er-weighed  with  suffering, 
And  knowledge  of  a  great  world's  sin  and  crime. 
Sometimes  in  restless,  wakeful  midnight  hours, 
A  strange,  faint  mem'ry  haunts  his  fevered  mind, 
Of  that  fair  country,  God  had  given  him, 
And  of  the  life  he  blindly  left  behind. 

49 


Who  made  him  thus?  who  planted  in  his  soul, 

The  hunger  for  a  life  God  had  not  given? 

A  hunger  that  is  never  satisfied, 

Though  men  may  strive  for  it,  and  long  have  striven. 

Where  shall  the  blame  be  laid,  when  he  shall  stand 

A  record  of  his  poor,  sad  life  to  give? 

O  God,  be  pitiful  of  his  mistakes, 

And  grant  to  him  the  Better  Life  to  live. 


HILL  AND  PLAIN 

I 

Once  on  a  time  I  dwelt, — or  dreamed  I  dwelt 
In  a  fair  land,  where  all  was  light  and  love  ; 
Bright   flow'rs   sprang   budding   from   the   verdant 

earth, 

The  sun  shone  gold,  from  azure  skies  above. 
The  day  was  full  of  joy,  and  with  the  birds 
I  caroled  songs  of  happiness  and  life ; 
I  breathed  the  free  air  of  the  mountain  heights, 
And  reckoned  not  of  pain  and  care  and  strife. 
Gazing  to  where  the  everlasting  hills 
Reflected  hour  by  hour  the  sun's  bright  glow, 
I  little  dreamed  of  darkness,  which  enshrouds, 
And  shadows,  such  as  filled  the  plain  below. 
For,  when  the  sun  was  set,  the  silver  moon 
Shed  over  all  its  pure  and  radiant  light, 
Or  else  the  golden  stars  from  heaven's  high  dome, 
Spoke,  with  the  mystic  voices  of  the  night. 
O,  happy  days,  and  nights  of  wondrous  dreams! 
O,  joyous  heart,  that  with  such  gladness  burned ! 
To  live  upon  the  hill-tops  passing  fair; 
To  love,  and  know  that  pulsing  Love  returned ! 

II 

I  dwell  no  longer  on  the  mountain-tops ; 
Now,  where  the  shadows  of  the  lowly  plain 
Let  but  the  fleeting  sunshine  light  the  way, 
I  learn  the  mysteries  of  life  and  pain. 
And  yet  it  seems,  my  heart  more  quickly  leaps 
In  sympathy  with  those  who  gladness  find; 
While  to  the  sorrows  of  a  breaking  heart, 
My  own  can  never  more  be  deaf  or  blind. 

51 


They  were  not  all  in  vain,  those  happy  days, 

Which  oft  seem,  now,  but  fancy's  gladsome  dream: 

The  mysteries  of  Life  are  only  read 

By  that  clear  light  which  from  the  Past  doth  stream. 

And  when  my  heart  cries  out  in  bitter  pain, 

In  hungry  longing,  which  is  weary  strife, 

In  fierce  desire  to  see,  and  hear,  and  feel, 

All  that  which  once  was  joy  and  hope  and  life, 

I  creep  to  where  the  shadows  of  the  plain 

Are  pierced  by  sunlight,  and  I  see  it  still — 

Though  dimmed  by  tears  and  memory's  mist-blue 

haze — 
The  outline  of  a  Heaven-kissing  Hill. 


THE  RIGHT  WAY 

Psalm  cviiij;    Authorized  Version 

He  led  them  forth;   the  mighty  host  went  up, 
Led  by  the  power  of  Jehovah's  hand ; 
Out  from  Egyptian  bondage  and  from  death, 
Up  towards  the  free  and  glorious  Promised  Land. 
In  the  Right  Way  He  led  them,  and  the  sea 
Rolled  back  its  waters  at  the  Lord's  command  ; 
And  Israel,  doubly  rescued  and  released, 
Rejoiced  and  sang  upon  the  farther  strand. 
He  led  them  forth;   the  Right  Way  clearly  shown 
By  pillars  of  that  Cloud  and  wondrous  Light ; 
They  need  not  fear  the  perils  of  the  day, 
Or  wander,  falt'ring,  in  the  pathless  night; 
For  the  great  God  their  Guide  and  Leader  was ; 
They  might  go  forth  rejoicing  on  their  way. 
Jehovah  led  them  through  Egyptian  Night, 
On  towards  the  glories  of  the  promised  Day. 

And  yet,  behold  them  wand'ring  from  the  path, 
Crying  aloud  for  rest,  and  drink,  and  food ; 
E'en  to  it's  bondage  would  they  fain  return, 
For  Egypt's  flesh-pots  seem  exceeding  good. 
Tempting  the  Lord,  refusing  to  be  led, 
When  almost  at  their  journey's  end  they  stand, 
Oppressed  with  fears,  losing  all  faith  and  hope, 
They  leave  the  entrance  of  the  Promised  Land. 
Weary  and  fearful,  sickened  unto  death, 
Feeling  the  heavy  chastening  of  the  Lord, 
Struggling  to  rise  and  stumbling  on  the  way, 
They  cry  at  last,  for  guidance,  to  their  God. 


53 


And  doth  He  hear?    Ah,  yes,  for  He  hath  been 

Guiding  them  still,  through  all  those  journeys  drear; 

Though  they  refused  to  listen  to  His  voice, 

Yet  was  the  Lord  Jehovah  ever  near. 

He  fed  them  with  the  bread  from  Heaven  and  ope'd, 

To  give  their  children  drink,  the  rock  of  stone. 

Through  forty  years  He  saved  their  wayward  feet 

From  many  a  pitfall  seen  or  all  unknown. 

They,  in  their  blindness  had  refused  to  see 

The  Cloud  and  Light  which  still  the  hosts  did  lead ; 

They  would  not  hear  the  Voice  which  bade  them 

come, 

Or  know  the  Love  which  did  their  hunger  feed. 
Yet  when  they  turned  in  suffering  and  woe, 
They  found  the  Lord  Jehovah,  and  they  knew 
That  by  His  might  and  guidance,  had  the  Hosts 
Of  Israel  been  led  the  journey  through. 

And  lo,  the  journey  ended,  and  the  Hosts 
Brought  to  the  entrance  of  that  Land  renowned, 
Enter  and  rest ;  their  weary  wand'rings  o'er, 
A  City  for  their  Habitation  found. 
Those  journ'yings  in  the  dreary  wilderness, 
The  darkened  nights  and  burdens  of  the  day, 
Have  brought  them  to  a  Land  and  City  fair; 
For  He  hath  led  them  forth  in  the  Right  Way. 

II 

Oft  in  our  lives  the  day  seems  sad  and  drear, 
Or  darkness  shrouds  us  like  an  endless  night; 
We  falter,  wand'ring  farther  from  the  path, 
We  cannot  find  the  way  or  see  the  light. 
Weakened  and  fevered  with  the  constant  pain 
Which  is  so  oft  a  portion  of  our  life, 
Our  suff'ring  bodies  burden  us  so  sore, 

54 


We  feel  no  strength  to  carry  on  the  strife. 

The  mind  oppressed  by  strange  and  awful  fears 

Shrinks,  as  from  enemies  on  every  hand  ; 

While  bound  and  fettered  thus,  the  soul's  dim  sight 

Cannot  behold  the  far-off  Promised  Land. 

Could  we  but  realize  that  the  Lord  is  near; 

That  He  doth  know  our  sore  and  weary  plight  ; 

That  he  but  waits  our  cry  for  help  to  Him, 

To  pierce  the  darkness  and  to  give  us  light. 

The  Living  Waters  freely  flow  for  us; 

With  Bread  of  Heaven  the  Lord  our  souls  would 

feed; 

Our  wand'ring,  weary  feet  His  love  would  guide; 
His  great  and  tender  strength  supply  our  need. 
Knowing  all  this,  we  should  pursue  our  way, 
As  children  led  by  a  dear  Father's  hand: 
The  journey  would  not  be  so  sore,  and  we 
Should  have  a  vision  of  the  Promised  Land. 

So  on  our  way,  by  heavenly  Manna  fed, 
Refreshed  by  Elim's  palms  and  waters  clear, 
We  shall  ascend  the  everlasting  hills, 
Whence  we  behold  the  Heavenly  Country  near. 
The  City  of  our  Habitation  there, 
The  New  Jerusalem,  upon  our  eyes  shall  shine, 
And  One  Who  as  a  Man,  the  way  did  tread, 
Shall  welcome  us  with  tenderness  divine. 
Then  shall  we  know  the  Why-fore  of  our  life ; 
How  all  those  journ'yings  of  the  night  and  day 
Were  used,  in  tender  mercy  by  our  God, 
To  lead  us  on  along  the  King's  Highway. 


55 


Rard.   El? 


T-r 


Echoes 


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